


How Many Times

by Catchclaw



Series: Abacab [3]
Category: Supernatural
Genre: First Kiss, Fluff, Humor, M/M, POV First Person, Pre-Slash, Season/Series 02, UST
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-04-03
Updated: 2012-04-03
Packaged: 2017-11-03 00:18:38
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,244
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/374960
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Catchclaw/pseuds/Catchclaw
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Sam loses his temper and finally gets what he wants. Well, part of it, at least. Eventually.</p>
            </blockquote>





	How Many Times

So Dean hasn't said anything for like ten minutes, which is kind of a miracle, frankly.

Usually, he gets bored or antsy or something way before this point. Maybe he doesn't like having time to hear himself think.

Whatever. At least he's leaving me the fuck alone.

But it is getting cold up here. Wind's picked up.

And, yeah, sure, he's been quiet, but it's his own special kind of keeping his mouth shut. The kind where absence speaks louder than presence, where you just know the second that he opens his mouth it's gonna be loud as hell and pissy and supremely self-righteous and so it's the silence that makes your ears hurt.

None of which I'm in the mood for right now.

So I'm hoping that if I don't say anything, then he won't either, and eventually he'll get so annoyed or tired or something that he'll just start up the car and I'll get in and we'll go home, wherever that is, tonight, and we can start over tomorrow. I can start over. Stop thinking about what almost happened and move forward with what is happening. What we need to be doing.

Either that, or I'll freeze to death first. Because, fuck, did it get cold all of a sudden.

"Sam," he says, suddenly, right behind me.

I don't turn around, just hunch my shoulders and ignore him as loudly as I can. Stare down at the water, the bridges, the cars.

"Dude," he says, tugging on my elbow. "C'mon, let's go. It's fucking freezing."

"Huh," I huff, before I can stop myself, "it was your idea to come up here, Dean." And I sound like a bitch, even to myself. But fine. Whatever. He deserves it.

He punches me in the side, half-hearted, sure, but it still stings.

"Hey, asshat," he barks. "You done? Or d'you wanna keep up the twelve year old girl routine all night?"

Fuck it.

I turn and shove him, hard, send him stumbling back towards the car.

"Enough," I snarl.

He straightens up and comes right back at me.

"Look who's talking!" he says. "Enough with you, too. Can it with the sad puppy routine, ok? What the hell is wrong with you?"

"I told you," I say, gritting my teeth, because I knew this was gonna happen, damn it. I knew he couldn't just leave me alone. "I'm fine. Now can we just go?"

"Really?" he says, pouring a month's worth of sarcasm into one word. "Oh, yeah, you're awesome, Sam. Obviously."

I punch him in the shoulder, because I can. Because I kind of need to. I surprise him, I guess, because he reels and falls back into the driver's side door. Glares up at me under the stupid streetlight.

"Dean," I say, taking a step towards him. Boxing him in. Trying to be calm. Holding my shit together, even though I'd really like to pop him in the mouth. "Seriously. Leave it alone."

He tilts his head, narrows his eyes. "What, you don't want to talk about your feelings now, princess? Wrong time of the month?"

And now he's just trying to piss me off, I know it, I can feel it, but it doesn't matter; I'm wound up so tight that I just react, just grab his shoulder and slam him against the door, even though I know better.

This is not going to end well.

I lean down into his face and he struggles and I knock him back again, watch his head ricochet off the frame and put all my weight into my arm, through my hand, into his shoulder.

"Goddamn it!" he swears, scowling up at me.

"Look," I say, and I sound calmer than I feel. "How many times. Do I have to tell you. Ok? I. Am fine. Nothing's wrong. Except you are being a complete asshole, and if you don't stop it, I will pound your fucking head into the dirt and put you to bed with a pillow over your damn face. Ok?"

He shakes his head. Disgusted. With me? With himself? I don't know. Don't care.

"Whatever," he mutters, in that tone of his that says: you may have the advantage now, but I can fucking shiv you in your sleep, you know.

"Fine," I say.

He meets my eyes. Shrugs. "Okay," he says. Blinks. "Sam. Sam?"

And seeing him, like that, feeling him look at me, I kind of drift for a second, I--

"Sam?" he says again, looking a little freaked out. Which seems appropriate.

"Yeah," I say, grabbing his face in my free hand, shoving my mouth into his.

And I'm at weird angle, or something, or he moves at the last second, because I get twisted and I miss his lips completely and slam my teeth into his, hard.

"Ow!" he howls, yanking his head away. "Fuck!"

I fall back, grabbing for my face. Come back tasting blood.

"Jesus!" he's shouting. "What in the fuck was that?"

"I--" I say, wincing, my tongue running over the cut inside my cheek, and oh no oh shit no what have I done? "Dean, it's not what I meant, I--"

But then I look up, look over at him and he's stomping around the car, flailing like Kermit the Frog, and honestly? From here? It's kind of hilarious.

"What, you think this is funny?" he growls, muppeting over in my direction, and ok, yes, it's fucking hysterical. Or maybe I am.

I start laughing so hard I kind of fold over, leaning back against the guardrail, so I can only see the gravel he's kicking up as he marches over.

"What the hell's so funny?" he demands, and something in voice pokes me and I peek up and he's grinning and that just cracks me up again, sends me right back over the edge.

He snorts way too loudly and now we're both hooting. My face feels like it's gonna split in two and he bumps into my shoulder and I know it's ok, then. We're ok.

We kind of lean against each other, giggling like idiots.

It's nice. Fucking freezing, but nice.

"So," he says, after a while, still chuckling. "Did you just try and kiss me?"

"Uh," I say. "Yeah. Kinda."

"Well," he says, straightening up. "You suck at it, dude."

I shake my head. Jam my hands into my pockets.

"Thanks for that constructive criticism," I drawl. And it's a joke, now, somehow. Which--feels kind of good, actually. I feel good, for some reason.

We go back to the car, get in.

He turns the key, keeps her in park.

"I mean, seriously," he says to the windshield. "Who taught you how to kiss, man? Jaws? You been watchin' Shark Week instead of porn again, Sammy?"

"Hilarious," I yawn. "Can we just go already?" Because I'm relaxed, all of sudden, and a warm bed sounds really, really nice, right now.

"Sure," he says, casual, and then his hand's on the back of my neck and he's pulling and then his mouth is on mine, and--

"Ok?" he says, sliding back over. Puts her in reverse.

"Ok," I say. Stunned. "Uh, yeah. Ok."

"Cool," he says, his arm behind my head as he backs her out, points her down the mountain.

And I--

I run my tongue over the cut in my mouth and come back tasting Dean.

And I grin like an idiot, all the way back down.


End file.
